


you went away and my heart went with you

by Marvellous



Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Love Letters, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Swearing, War, War violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-05-31 09:55:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19423609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvellous/pseuds/Marvellous
Summary: "The war continues, and so we must hold onto the days we have been given together instead of those we lose, my love, and look forward to the time we will have together once more."---Snippets from a WWII Kreizloore AU





	1. laszlo

**Author's Note:**

> Moved these two up several decades to 1943, in the midst of WWII. Let’s put Laszlo mid and John early 30s. Established but secret relationship due to period typical laws and homophobia. Laszlo is a psychologist who works with returned/injured soldiers, John was conscripted into the war effort in 1942. 
> 
> Title from Vera Lynn's "You'll Never Know"
> 
> Apologies for any historical inaccuracies! I did some research, but I’m sure there are mistakes. 
> 
> Also this is not beta read, so if you spot any glaring mistakes don't be afraid to let me know, because I would be so thankful!

**May 1943**

Laszlo was watchful the haunted young patient sitting opposite him, the young man’s red-rimmed eyes darting around the plain unfamiliar room he was situated in. Not much to look at save for some simple art hanging on the beige and white walls, a bland bookshelf and his desk with a lamp that was by no means an appealing piece of furniture. Times were hard, and decorations of psychologists offices weren’t the utmost concern of the US military funded medical units. “Is there any questions you have before we begin, Mr. Davis?” Laszlo inquired after he had initially surveyed the other.

“Why do they let you work here? Aren’t your people the enemy after all?” the young soldier all but spat at Dr. Kreizler, dark circles underneath his glassy eyes a sign of the trauma that he couldn’t shake since arriving back from overseas. 

“I was only born in Germany, William,” Laszlo spoke, switching to first names in an attempt to make him more comfortable, as he used to do when he worked with children, “I can assure you, I am no enemy. I work here because of my qualifications to do so.”

William said no more on the subject, turning his head to look out the nearby window at the sun shining outdoors. Closing his eyes, his voice was more vulnerable when he spoke next, sounding like the boy he probably was when he left three years prior, “Feels like I’ve been fightin’ so long, I forget that not everyone’s out to kill ya.”

“That’s a normal feeling under the circumstances,” Laszlo said to him with a note of sadness.

“Now I’m not even allowed to go back,” William grimaced and dug his fingers into his thigh, the distress he felt clear. 

“You must focus on the things you can still do, then,” Laszlo said as he stood, “I believe if you keep up with the prescribed exercises you’ve been shown, you will see a difference in how you feel now.”

William shook his head as he looked at Laszlo, “Some exercises are s’posed to make my head better? They gonna help the way I can’t sleep because I see my friends dead every time I close my eyes? Are they, Doc?” 

“No. They won’t,” Laszlo responded truthfully, not about to sugarcoat it, “It may take years for that to grow easier. However, if you’re physical state is healthy then your brain can start healing itself as well.” 

It seemed as if something clicked with the young man then, if just slightly, causing his hands to stop shaking so much and his shoulders slump ever so. From his experience, Laszlo had realized that sometimes at the very least, all these soldiers needed at these moments was a reminder from someone that things could get better. 

A knock on the door sounded and Laszlo stood as a nurse entered the room. 

“Dr. Kreizler, I was sent to help Mr. Davis,” she said with a small smile. 

Laszlo nodded, lamenting the fact he was given such a short time with these men, “Of course, thank you.” 

William accepted her help to stand up and situate himself with the crutches he had, still getting used to the fact he had the use of one less leg. 

“I hope to see you again, William,” Laszlo tipped his head to the man, sincere in his words, not mentioning anything of what they’d spoken of in front of the nurse. 

William paused before nodding, slowly stepping where the nurse guided him, not before turning to say to Laszlo, “Thank you.” 

Laszlo simply smiled and touched the young man’s shoulder, seeing him out the door before shutting it behind them. The last patient of another full day. 

At this stage, Laszlo had offered his services nearly a year ago in 1942, not long after John had been conscripted. A part of him had wanted to do so to feel closer to the other man while he was gone, telling himself that even though they were apart, they would be helping the same cause. He knew what they were actually experiencing, however, was vastly different. Laszlo could see this through the troubled soldiers he saw every day. 

Not many of them were willing to speak about what they’d gone through, their minds still in shock and the better part of them were them severely injured. If they hadn’t been missing vital body parts, Laszlo had no doubt they would be thrown back into the fray without a second thought. And their numbers now were relatively low, not receiving many from the other half of the war in the Pacific. Many expected the amount injured to rise once the troops pushed Europe further. All Laszlo could do to help them, was try to help them make the aftermath more bearable. 

Rounding the corner to his desk, he started to gather his papers from the day when there was another knock on the door. Laszlo couldn’t recall being informed about any additional patients, still, he spoke loud enough for the person to hear, “Come in.”

In stepped one Sara Howard, “Dr. Kreizler.”

“Miss. Howard,” Laszlo said in turn, not able to read her expression. Not often did he see much of her these days. Sara had been a part of this war longer than both him or John, though she hadn’t been overseas she worked her way up the ranks here in New York and worked on several military sanctioned projects. It kept her busy, so the unwarranted visit caused a slight uneasiness in Laszlo. 

“I’ve received something I think you might be interested in,” Sara held an envelope out to him, a small smile on the corner of her lips. 

The smile she held told Laszlo it wasn’t bad news, but when he saw the name on it he frowned, “Er ist viel zu unbesonnen.”

“You don’t sound pleased,” Sara commented, eyebrows creased with concern.

“We agreed not to write. What if someone was to read this and report us? Living together is dangerous enough as it is,” Laszlo lowered his voice on the off chance of prying ears. 

“Laszlo, please. Before John left, I told him he could send a letter to me devoid of your name, and that I would deliver it for him,” Sara’s attempted to ease the worries of the older man, “Certainly you realize how much it means for a soldier in arms to write to the ones they love. I couldn’t very well let John leave without making sure he could do the same.”

Laszlo held the sealed envelope in his hand, a link to the man he tried not to spend all of his time missing, for if he did he’d surely fall into a darker state of mind. This letter was the only form of contact he’d had from him in over a year, and though his instincts told him what a bad idea it was, he couldn’t help but feel grateful that he had this now. “Thank you for this, Sara,” he said genuinely, looking up to meet her eyes.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, “Of course. You’re allowed to write to him as well, you know. It’d be good for him.”

The idea was one he thought of often, but had simply told himself that the risks were too high. If anyone was ever to read correspondence between them, any speculations would only grow. Still, Laszlo nodded. 

“Come see me for dinner sometime,” she offered, “You don’t get out enough without John around, my friend.”

Laszlo shot a pointed look at her as he tucked the letter into his inner coat pocket, “I feel as if it would be easier to just agree with you.”

“You know me well, doctor,” Sara smirked.

\-- -- -- -- -- 

Laszlo found himself home soon after, more anxious then he would ever care to admit about the slip of paper in his pocket, which was clearly ridiculous. Why should he be nervous about receiving such a thing from someone he’d known for well over ten years? From someone whom he’d loved just as long. 

Perhaps it was the guilt. Ever since John left, Laszlo felt more resentful then ever about the fact his body was useless. That it wasn’t fair that John was in a living hell while he felt rather useless here. He always held his field in high regard, but seeing himself from the viewpoint of the soldiers he worked with, he understood why most wanted nothing to do with him. He was a German doctor who wanted them to open up about the horrors they had seen without proper time to process them.

Laszlo found himself in the sitting room, slipping on his glasses before taking a seat on the sofa that John had been so insistent about purchasing. The upholstery undoubtedly more fantastic than Laszlo’s own taste, but it fit well, and oh, the stories to tell if it could speak. 

With a letter opener, Laszlo started to open the envelope, though with mild difficulty due to the lameness in his arm. By the time he managed, the contained sheets of paper felt rather foreign in his hands, especially with the added fact of how far they’d come. Carefully, he unfolded the page as if it were as delicate as a single butterfly wing, and he began to read;

_My Darling,_

_I cannot lie to you, that you know, but I would not dare to try even through a letter — I know better than that, I assure you — these months of training have not been easy on my body, nor my mind. And still, I have yet to see battle. I’m reminded constantly that I’m not as young as I once was. I can nearly hear you telling me this as I ache at night. You have always been the sensible one._

_It has been quiet as of late so I’m taking the chance to write to you, as it’s been long enough, and I can’t guess as to when it all might end. Perhaps you hear differently back home. I’d like to think when this is finally over, we might come here together and see these places as they’re meant to be, not trodden down with the hard times that the war has put upon them._

_I miss you a great deal, I’m afraid. It feels as if everything from the moment I received my draft notices was a great blur, and now just about a year later here I am, a whole ocean away from you. I do hope I don’t sound too utterly lovesick or forlorn, but in the fleeting moments when I’m able to think of you, I cannot help but think of all the time we are losing together. The small otherwise insignificant moments of our intertwined time together tends to be what I miss most of all. Holding your hand was a luxury I didn’t know I would come to hold so highly, or the sweet sound of your voice in the darkest hours of the morning, even your stubborn ways are something I miss in a place where everyone must do exactly what they are told._

_I do remember your hesitance to write letters, and if you still feel as much, do not. Knowing you shall read this is comfort enough. We shall see each other again, of that I’m certain. I have to be. When I am home will be the time that you may tell me all the things I have missed in my absence. Let us hope that this war is over soon and we can resume our lives, with a world at peace._

_If I had another sheet of paper, I would write you more words than you’d know what to do with, but that will have to wait._

_All my heart to you, my love, all my heart and my soul,  
-John_

A heavy weight fell to Laszlo’s shoulders upon the letter’s end, and the empty house in which he sat ached with loneliness he hadn’t let himself feel since John had left. 

He couldn’t help his mind’s train of thought, and had to wonder if they indeed would see one another again, wishing he could be as certain as John seemed to be. The war was dark and unforgiving, and they were merely pawns in a game much larger than themselves, their outcomes as unknown as the years ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm hoping to have the next few parts up fairly soon. I only plan to have about three in total.
> 
> I haven't written anything since last year, so excuse my rusty writing skills! Kudos/comments are always very much appreciated! Thank you for reading!


	2. john

**April, 1944**

_Dear John,_

_Writing this goes against my better judgement. However, you are prepared, if not willing, to risk your life for this country, so who am I to fear writing a letter to the man I love. I can only apologize that it’s taken this long to realize so. A product of the stubbornness you so kindly mentioned._

_I have to tell you something I think might shock you, John, and perhaps bring a smile to your face. I must have been feeling sorry for myself just the other day, and on my journey home from work that evening there were two children attempting to sell a puppy beside the road. A mangy little beast, surely only just weaned from its mother, and yet it came home with me. Only until I find a more suitable place for her, of course._

_Things here are not much different from when you left, otherwise. I keep busy with my occupation, and time passes as ever. Only you are not here to make the time in between quite as bearable. Our friend has talked me into dinner together every so often, so you see I haven’t completely buried myself in my work. Stevie recently reached the age of 18, so the boy enlisted with the marines that very day, though I admit I wish he hadn’t. Already he’s been sent to his basic training, and from there I wager to guess he’ll be stationed somewhere in the Pacific._

_Every day we spend apart feels more difficult as they have suddenly started to turn themselves into years, now. The war continues, and so we must hold onto the days we have been given together instead of those we lose, my love, and look forward to the time we will have together once more, as you’ve said. I regret to say, it’s difficult for me to hear your voice so clearly anymore, and I look forward to the day when I get to hear it again with my own two ears._

_Remember to take care of yourself as best you can, mein liebling. I love you very much._

_Du bist mein ein und alles.  
-L_

John grinned a the unexpected words in his hand, even if his heart felt a deep ache for the man he had left. His expectation was that Laszlo would be firm in his decision against writing, but something had urged him to do differently, and for that John was grateful. It put some of his worries at ease. All this time awaiting instructions allowed him much time to think, in the moments between training and sleeping, and he couldn’t help but wonder after all this time, if Laszlo still cared for him with the amount of time apart.

A content sigh left his lips as his green eyes looked out to the horizon, to the blue sky turning a hazy purple as it welcomed the chilly night air. Feeling lighter than he had in months, John told himself to hang onto that feeling. The whispers he heard through the ranks implied they’d make the push to invade western Europe soon, and he could only imagine what laid ahead of them over there. 

“Letter from your girl, Moore?” a badgering familiar voice sounded behind him. 

A relatively new soldier, James Miller from Tulsa, Oklahoma, who had taken to sticking with John in the free time they were given. Whatever the reason for that happening, John didn’t mind so much. He was probably not far from Stevie’s age, now that John thought about it. How strange to think they were practically still kids, not yet serving age when he himself had been drafted.

“That’d be a first,” said another, Robert Jones, who John had known since he’d arrived here, “He’s said she definitely wouldn’t be sending him any.”

“That’s the kinda thing a fella says when he don't actually got a girl,” the youngest man said accusingly, “Either that or she ain’t much to look at.”

John tucked away the letter into his uniform and smiled half to himself as he stood to join the other men on their walk back, “I can promise you that is absolutely not true.” 

“I’ll take your word for it, since you seem like a trustworthy guy ‘n all,” James conceded to the fact that he wouldn’t be getting anymore information than that.

The three men fell into step beside each other as they crossed through farmer’s fields along the coast, sounds of shorebirds and a light breeze the only noises to accompany them. The channel of water to their side was strangely calm, something not common for England’s spring season, as they’d come to learn.

“I tell you guys, I’m restless. With all this training, I wish they’d send us somewhere instead of keeping us here,” James huffed, “It feels like I’ve been in England for ages.”

“You’ve been here only three months, Miller,” John shared an almost amused glance with Robert.

“We’ll be headed over there to France before long, don’t you worry,” Robert quipped, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips before offering one to both other men.

“Yah, but when?” James questioned, as he took the cigarette and lit it up with a slightly clumsy hand, only just having taken up smoking.

John held out one for the flame as well, taking a drag of the musky smoke into his lungs, “Soon enough.”

James rolled his eyes, “You old dogs aren’t worried that they’re gonna get here first?”

“Oh, no. I think they’re too scared of us,” Robert said sarcastically, “And, just so we’re clear, the only old one here is Moore.”

John could only roll his eyes. If he had a dollar for each time the other men mentioned his age here, he’d have more than a few months wages at hand. “I’m only 34, and you’re not much younger than I am, Jones,” he warned with a playful quirk of his eyebrows.

“You both are older than a good number of us, so, makes you both old, sorry to say,” James interjected upon taking a pull of his cigarette, “Surprised you’re able to be here at all.” 

Robert smacked him on the back of the head for that one, “Did anyone back home teach you about respect? Not everyone’s gonna take easy to the way you say whatever’s in that small fucking brain of yours.”

James winced and shoved the older man, “Fuck you, Jones.”

“Enough, you two,” John shouldered his way between them, “If you kill each other, it just makes their job all the easier.”

“They’re gonna have a rough fucking go once I get my hands on em,” James muttered, anger easily directed where it needed to be.

“Keep that spark for over there, then,” John advised. 

John admired the spirit the kid had, but he hadn’t a clue what they were in for over the next while, and whether or not a spark would be enough, remained to be seen.

**June 6, 1944**

Storm induced waves rocked a steadfast landing craft off the shores of France, meanwhile the constant cracks of gunfire and the sound of explosives in the distance did little to reassure John’s sickening stomach. They were only the second wave of men packed into these vessels, at full capacity plus some, who had been sent towards this division of heavily armed French coastline. 

The turmoil had reached them already in the difficult seas as they neared their destination. They resulted to using their helmets as buckets, the platoon moved together in the close quarters as they tried to empty the basin of the craft of the water that continuously sloshed inside. 

John looked up for a moment, drenched with sweat and water but no time to think about either, instead checking at the young man closest to him.

James shook violently, either from the unwavering chill of the sea air and the way he was drenched like a drowned rat, or from the fear he felt as they neared the shore, John couldn’t be sure.

“Focus, Miller,” John encouraged, knowing if he stalled or hesitated, that would be it for the boy. The battlefield was no time to freeze.

James nodded, and eyes unblinking he moved back into action following the lead of John and the others.

John wished he had more reassurance to offer the young man, but the truth was that he had never been more terrified in his life. He could never have been prepared for this, he drew pictures for a living for God’s sake. Even the years of drills and practices, they did shit for him now. 

“Here we are boys!” one of the men manning the crafts yelled out, “Can’t go any further, you’ll have to make it from here. Let’s go!”

The ramps lowered and John clapped James’ shoulder before they were all ushered off the vessel and into the relentless cold bite of the Atlantic. There was no footholds to be had, the water here was well over their heads, machine gun rounds whistling through the air and smoke and debris clouding the land they were headed to in a foreboding haze.

With ninety pounds of gear weighing him down, John struggled to keep his head above the water. The waves disorienting even as he could hear other members of the platoon shouting to one another. The shock of the icy water crept under his skin quickly, and he could feel his body going numb, but his mind wasn’t keeping up to the rest of him.

“Moore!” he heard the panicked young voice, but not before unconsciousness had taken its hold and a world of black surrounded him.

\-- -- -- 

The repeated firing of guns assaulted his ear drums as John’s eyes flew open, a fit of violent coughs racking his body trying to rid his lungs of fluid and his mouth of sand.

The ground beneath him shook and the air echoed with pained screams and cries for help. He pushed himself up, only to have someone help pulling him the rest of the way with their fingers digging into his shoulder, the figure shoving a gun into his hands before he could say anything.

John recognized Robert, even battered and bloody as he was.

“Come on! We have to get up to the road and off this fucking beach, you can thank me later,” Robert shouted to him over the chaos. 

Instantly, John had to regain his wits in the hell he had found himself in as they fought their way over the beach, though it felt like they were simply targets in an open and unforgiving landscape. The carnage already amassed on the beach showed him that much, and kept him moving behind Robert. From what he could gather, there were several machine guns stationed on the hills, and undoubtedly other forms of artillery as well, and all of them working without mercy. 

About thirty feet to his right, movement swiftly caught what little margin his attention kept free. It was James, crouched behind an outcrop of rocks, no doubt fearing for his young life.

“Moore, leave him!” Robert caught on to his intent with only a quick glance over his shoulder.

“You go on ahead! I’ll meet you there,” John called back, not listening for a second. He couldn’t just leave the other. Crouched lower, he ran as fast as his feet would allow in the uneven ground, nearly tripping over the wet sand and bodies that covered the beach. 

Sand shot into the air around him and a searing but brief pain shot through John’s leg just as he managed to haul himself to James’ side, the adrenaline enough to make him ignore whatever injury he might have. “Hey, kid, we have to go,” John urged, desperate to get him off of this beach. 

“I can’t,” James nearly sobbed, hand covering his mouth, “I can’t do this. I can’t.”

“What happened to kicking their asses, huh?” John tried, ducking lower as a round of bullets hailed down around them, the urgency in his voice more agressive, “Come on, we have to fucking move.”

James only shook and close his eyes.

“Stay with me, okay? We can make it out of this, but you need to move,” John stood slightly, one knee still bent as he prepared for the both of them to make a run for it.

“Okay,” James finally agreed between gasps for air, eyes not focusing on John, and instead mindlessly took the words as a cue to stand.

“James, wait!” John screamed, but it was too late and the young man’s body slumped just as quick as he stood. 

The colour drained from John’s face as he attempted to pull James towards him while slouching further beneath the top edge of the rock they were behind.

The soldier’s eyes were glassy as he looked up to John, blood soaking his uniform in several different places as it started to flow from his mouth as well. Choked sounds escaped from his throat as he attempted to speak, the fear behind his eyes growing with each second that passed.

“Shh, everything’s okay,” John said quickly, for he knew he had to keep it together and fight his own sense of fear. Whatever coherent thoughts the other’s mind still had would not be aided by his own emotions taking hold, “This will all be over soon. It’s just noise, James.”

A tremor ran its course, and his body stilled for the last time, a quick end to a man too young to die.

“Fuck,” John’s voice was thick, he had failed, but he knew the time for mourning wasn’t then, and that he had to go or risk the same fate. 

Turning his back on the body of his friend, John crawled his way through the sand until he could be sure of an appropriate time to make a run for it with his injured leg. It was then, something clicked in him. This wasn’t just about surviving. If he didn’t make it through this, he knew the rest of the troops would and that here, this day was the beginning of the end of this war, and he wasn’t about to leave until he knew it to be true or died trying.

_”John,” Laszlo spoke quietly as their fingers brushed together._

_John brushed the fingers of his free hand through Laszlo’s hair, “Laszlo?”_

_“I cannot make you promise to do so, however-” Laszlo’s voice was not that of his usual self, as if speaking such words was a difficulty, not for their lack of truth, but for the fact they brought an admission of a fear he didn’t want to face, “Please come home.”_

_A shaky breath left John’s lips as he closed his eyes and pressed a soft kiss to the other man’s cheek. As much as he wished to make such a promise, John knew he couldn’t. Of that, they were both aware._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/kudos always much appreciated! Thank you so much for reading <3 Again, not beta read, so I apologize for any mistakes.


	3. reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short sweet ending to this little fic. Thanks so so much to everyone who's taken the time to read this!

**September 1945**

Sudden sounds of a persistent barking coming from the front hallway stirred Laszlo from his deep state of thought, an open but wholly unread book in front of him. Not uncommon the past few days, Sara had even gone so far to accuse him of daydreaming. What an idle way to spend otherwise valuable time, he had thought. Finding himself unable to concentrate on anything the following days made him consider the accusation more seriously, however. Maybe he was daydreaming after all, but one could hardly blame him. 

The war was over. It was over at last, and that meant John was to be home any day now. Laszlo could scold himself for feeling like a child with the amount of glee he felt at the prospect, but he wouldn’t. The better part of three years had passed since John left, and every moment since Laszlo felt a part of him to be missing. Now it was time to be thankful for the fact that the man was coming back at all, and giving into a bit of that joy wasn’t such a bad thing. His gaze shifted to a small stack of letters neatly tied with twine, every letter he’d received from John. Laszlo was thankful for each one, but even more so for the fact they wouldn’t be serving as his last memories of the man he loved.

The barking had stopped by now, and the familiar pad of paws entered Laszlo’s study. The perky-eared young dog sat beside him and rested her head on his thigh, brown eyes watching expectantly as always. 

“Alena,” Laszlo greeted her with a scratch behind the ears. A suitable place never did present itself as a home for her, so he found himself with the company of another being, which he’d actually come to enjoy. The house didn’t feel as empty with her around. 

He rested his poorer hand on the side of her neck, stroking his own chin with the other. In anticipation of John’s return, he had gone to the barber’s a few days prior for a shave, feeling nostalgic for the time the two of them were younger and the weight of the world seemed not so crushing. Maybe he hoped they could recapture some of that upon John’s return. Perhaps another reasoning was that he simply knew how much the other man liked it. 

Laszlo did worry about the time they had spent apart. It was a long time by some standards, not so much by others. It only takes a short time for someone to change, however, and given the circumstances, it was likely if not certain. With the amount of soldiers coming through the hospital over the years, Laszlo had seen first hand the damage done to the young men over there. Their bodies and their souls were depleted far worse than any newspaper claimed, and he had to remind himself that John was fighting the same battles as they were. 

“Would you like to show me what you were being so noisy about?” Laszlo asked the dog after a few more moments of introspectiveness, as if she could understand the question posed to her. Lifting her head, she barked and sprang to her feet once more, rushing for the front of the house. 

Laszlo stood to follow, assuming there must be a stray cat outside the front of the house to cause such a frenzy. As he turned into the hallway and into the living room to head towards the front window to check his theory, he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening, followed by the sounds of booted steps on the creaky hardwood floor.

Turning around, Laszlo was instantly greeted with the most welcoming sight he’d seen in years. 

John shrugged his bag off his shoulder, letting it hit the floor with a thud at the same time all the air from his lungs seemed to leave him. His green eyes showed the utter relief he felt at being home once more.

“John,” Laszlo breathed, stepping closer to the taller man.

John said nothing, but moved both his hands to cup the sides of Laszlo’s face before kissing him, a chaste but desperate meeting of their lips. All the urgency of their first and as much love that would stay until the last. 

Laszlo melted into the ardor, feeling like a younger man once again. A smile found his lips through the desperate way they kissed one another, so much sweeter than the one they last shared. 

The soldier pulled back eventually, his gaze meeting the kind brown eyes he longed for time and time again, “How I’ve missed you, Laszlo.”

“And I you, mein Schatz,” Laszlo’s voice was soft, comfortable at being in the arms of his lover. His smile changed then to something more thoughtful while he gently let the fingers of his good hand ghost along the edge of John’s jawline. His eyes were tired, and his skin showed visible memories of the hardships he’d been through, the struggles he had been thrust into witnessing, but he was still ever the man Laszlo remembered.

Instinctively, John leaned into the warmth he’d crazed and missed, touching their foreheads together as his thumbs gently brushed over Laszlo’s flushed cheeks. Beautiful as the day he’d left. Speechless, only their mingled breath and the sound of the dog snuffling at their feet filled the still air of their home.

Almost without a doubt, there were to be obstacles in their future, the aftermath of the war wouldn’t excuse them from it’s clutches. For now however, in these small significant moments, everything was right in their little world.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments always appreciated! I really love these two, and I always love writing AUs aha. Thanks again to everyone who gave this little drabble of a fic a shot!


End file.
